Lucky
by NothingImpossible
Summary: Thoughts about the infamous ring Killian gave Emma that had belonged to Liam, where it may have come from, and why the brothers hadn't sold it to purchase their freedom years earlier. Jones brothers early days.
**A/N:** Huge thanks to queen-mabs-revenge, who keeps putting up with my headcanonning all over her blog on a pretty constant basis. This story evolved from a series of conversations regarding the lack of acknowledgement on the origins of the ring, as well as why the brothers had jewelry when they were still essentially slaves to their father's *coughbastardcough* debt.

* * *

Liam slipped quietly through the

streets, the early morning light cutting bright paths through the scattering of buildings lining the cobbled roads. Shops were just opening, the aromas of fresh breads and pastries filled his senses, but he had no time to stop and enjoy it, and no money to spare a taste. He had to hurry, before his absence was discovered and his brother paid the price.

 _Killian_.

The thought of his only family made his heart clench painfully in his chest, worry driving him forward even faster. This was the only plan they had, the only way to escape the servitude to which their fath- _that bastard_ , he couldn't help his fists clenching - had abandoned them only months before. It had to work.

It _had_ to.

He spotted the pawn shop at the end of the street, just where he'd seen it yesterday while running errands for the captain. Truthfully, his workload wasn't so bad, the captain seemed keen on keeping him close, his personal steward. But Killian… he was so small, so scared all the time, afraid of making mistakes, getting caught, still terrified of being left in the dark.

Liam approached the door, fingering the ring he wore on a chain, the ring he'd always worn, ever since his mother had given it to him a handful of years before. _"Protect Killian,"_ she'd whispered as her trembling fingers slipped the chain over his head, her strength all but gone. _"Promise me you'll keep him safe."_ He'd promised, of course he had, he would have anyway, but it seemed important to her that he swear again. He'd promised, but hadn't been able to protect Killian from the pain of her death, his soft cries still echoing faintly in his memory.

He shook his head to clear it, knocked once, and went inside.

A small bell over the door rang briefly as he closed it, the tinny sound the only noise in the cramped storefront. An old man sat behind the counter, scrawling quietly in the ledgers spread out over the tabletop. Liam took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Stevens? You're back so soon?" the man said without looking up, his back hunched over his work.

"No, sir," Liam replied quietly. "I've come to sell something."

The owner looked up then, peering over half-moon spectacles.

"Oh? What have you got there?" he said.

Liam stepped closer and pulled the chain from around his neck, clasping the ring tightly one final time, pressing the delicately woven silver flowers into his palm to memorise the feel of them, of the love she'd put into making it, for him, just for him.

Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he forced himself to open his hand. With a slight rustling of the thin silvery strand, he dropped the ring onto the countertop.

"This, please."

The man leaned forward slightly and picked up the ring. Holding it up to the streams of light from the window, he peered carefully at the metal, turning it slowly in his fingers. Liam waited, forcing himself to stand patiently still while every instinct in him screamed at him to race back to the ship.

"Well," the pawn shop owner finally said. "I can give you seven coppers for it. Eight, if you leave the chain."

 _Seven coppers? That can't be right._

"But sir," Liam said with as much respect as he could muster, "it's real silver. Surely it's worth more than that."

The man only stared at him, his eyes narrowed tightly, as the ring fell back to the counter with a dull thump.

"Boy, where did you say you got this?" he asked, his voice a notch lower than before, a note of danger in his tone.

Liam swallowed hard as he imagined the scenario playing out ahead of him, readying himself just in case. Briefly he thought of Killian, grateful his brother wasn't with him to witness his failure.

"From my mother," he managed softly. "Before she died."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded.

"Because, here's the thing," the man said, leaning back in his chair. "Lord North was robbed last week, did you hear about that, boy?"

Liam shook his head, his muscles quivering in anticipation.

"He reported quite a bit of stolen jewelry, all with floral patterns. Kind of like that one, actually." He nodded to the ring lying on the wooden counter. "Now, I sure wouldn't like to be in your shoes if someone came asking questions about it. So why don't you take the coppers and let me help get this trinket off your hands, eh?"

 _No_.

As fast as he could, Liam lashed out his hand and grabbed the ring. A moment later, he was racing out the door and back through the streets toward the docks. Dimly, he heard shouts of, "Stop! Thief!", but he only ran faster, weaving through as many alleys as he dared without getting hopelessly lost in the maze of buildings. He could feel the ocean breeze, knew he was getting closer, and he allowed himself a brief moment of hope despite the footsteps that pounded on the stones behind him. He ducked behind a cart, trying to get lost in the early morning vendors who set up their wares on the ocean-front streets, the ring still clutched tightly in his fingers. With one smooth movement, he slipped the chain back over his head, tucking the ring under his shirt.

Footsteps came and left, and soon he was certain he was no longer in danger. He made his way cautiously back to the ship, but nobody paid him any mind, and he quickly slipped aboard, climbing down the ladders to where Killian still slept. Without undressing, he tucked himself around his brother in the bunk they shared.

Killian stirred slowly, blue eyes opening just a crack to look at him.

"Did you do it?" he whispered, his small voice quiet in the dimness of the cabin. "Did you get the money?"

Liam shook his head, thinking frantically what he could say to Killian. He surely didn't need to know about the accusations of thievery, the insult of it still stung. "Couldn't go through with it, little brother," he said softly. "It's my lucky ring. As long as I keep it safe, we're going to be okay."

"Really?" Killian shifted over, his eyes large and bright even in darkness. "How do you know?"

 _Because Mother made it for me,_ he wanted to answer. _Because holding it is like feeling traces of her, her smile, her memories, her love. Because it's the last thing we have of the only person who truly loved us, who didn't choose to leave us all alone._ He felt the rage beginning to coil in his gut as his fist clenched tightly at his side. But he said none of that, willing the anger away with a slow breath as he grinned at his younger brother.

"I just do," he said. He pulled the ring from his shirt and Killian reached his small fingers to touch it gently. "We need all the luck we can get, if we're going to get out of here soon, eh?"

Killian nodded solemnly. "Aye. Perhaps it's best we keep it hidden? Others might want the luck for themselves."

He couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out from his lips.

"Right you are, brother. Good idea."

"You keep it, Liam," Killian said softly. "You're better at keeping things safe."

Liam nodded and tucked it back away, trying to erase the entire incident from memory as it disappeared under his shirt.

"Go back to sleep, Killian," he murmured, laying his head back down on the roll of clothing they used as a pillow. "We need to be up in a couple of hours."

"All right," Killian yawned, settling under the thin blanket they shared. "Now we're the luckiest boys on this ship."

His little brother's breathing deepened into the slow and steady rhythm of sleep, and Liam fingered the ring through the material of his shirt absently. He fell asleep with a prayer on his lips, a prayer for luck for two lost boys who didn't matter, and probably never would.


End file.
